(book thumps) (pages turn) (watch clanks) (puzzle jangles) (watch beeps) (dramatic music) (ATM buttons beep) (ATM beeps) (button beeps) (puzzle jangling) CUSTOMER 1: Oi, you heard of a queue?

CUSTOMER 2: Hey, excuse me.

I need to make a withdrawal.

TELLER: Just a second, Sir.

Sir... anything I can help you with?

I need eight thousand pounds.

Now.

(dramatic music continues) (puzzle jangling) (traffic humming) (tires screech) (car hoots) (puzzle jangles) (traffic humming) (car hoots repeatedly) (car engine revs) (envelope clatters) (puzzle jingling) (boot opens) (boot slams shut) (wind whistling) (sinister music) (splashing) (can clatters) (lighter flicks) (puzzle jangles) (flames roar) Argh!

Argh!

Argh!

Ah!

(man moaning, screaming) (watch beeps) (puzzle clatters) (pencil scratches) (theme tune) (footsteps) (people chattering) Hi, you can go in.

You asked to see me, Sir.

Yeah, can you, er, jump on this?

Just take a quick look.

I...I thought Uniform already h. Yeah, and now I'm asking you to.

It's a...death by misadventure.

What, you can tell that from the first page?

With respect, Sir, he set himself alight in broad daylight.

Look, it's a very, um... unusual MO.

(sighs) He's a Rotarian, he plays bridge with the Chief Constable's husband.

-Ah.

-I just wanna make doubly certain we're not missing anything.

Mm.

(footsteps receding) What did Baxter want?

Well, it's suicide.

I know, right?

I'm off to the mortuary.

-Alright.

-Ma'am...

I was asked to cue up the CCTV on the Chopra case for you to review.

Er, this is from the rooftop camera.

(sinister music) (sighs) That's enough.

No one else within a mile.

-Case closed.

Ah, DCI Baxter was very specific, Ma'am, that someone should go through it all.

And that someone is you, DC Akbari.

What, every last frame?

What's the running time of this charming little snuff movie?

It's more than ninety hours of footage.

You're gonna need an awful lot of popcorn.

Go on, be a good boy, boss might bring you something nice back from the mortuary.

Oh, hang on.

You won't get far without these.

(keys clank) Thanks.

(soft classical piano) (puzzle jangling) (classical music intensifies) (orchestra joins in) MAN: Do you have a minute?

(birds tweeting) (puzzle clatters) I said, do you have a minute?

Er, well, my bus is due, so...

I see you waiting here most mornings.

I say to myself, “She looks nice, ask her out.” -(whispers) Okay.

-So...

I just did.

You just...you just did what?

Asked you out.

For a drink.

Oh, I don't drink alcohol, if that's what you meant.

A coffee, then?

No, well, you shouldn't actually drink coffee ‘cause the roasting process produces acrylamide, which is a known carcinogen, so.

What's your number?

What?

Oh, it's, um, zero seven, seven, zero, zero, nine, zero, zero, eight, six, eight, but I don't actually answer if there's no caller ID ‘cause I hate surprises, um... Ah, well, you've got your minute.

(bus rumbles) (doors hiss) Have you seen Dr. Parsons?

MORTICIAN: She went for lunch.

Hmm, already had yours?

You try eating soup with a bone saw.

(chuckles) Is that who I think it is?

Wife of our self-immolator in the car park.

She insisted on seeing him.

Here you go.

That's very kind of you.

Sure you don't mind if I ask a few questions?

I just wish there was something useful I could think of to tell you.

Had Dr. Chopra been having any problems?

Any professional difficulties?

Not that I was aware of.

Even so, as a doctor...

He was a psychiatrist.

He must've had to deal with a lot of dark stuff.

Perhaps it took its toll.

A few years back, he had a bit of a crisis.

Went into his shell for a while.

But this last year or so, quite the opposite.

I've never known him so happy.

So outwardly sunny.

Our son got married last month.

And Aadesh was the life and soul.

He was thinking of early retirement, about using a lump sum from his pension as a deposit on a second home.

Making plans for the future.

(sobbing) (melancholic music) Here you go.

So... no unusual patterns of behavior, nothing that sticks out?

Nothing.

Except the cash, I suppose.

What cash?

He took £8,000 from the bank on the morning... well, you know.

(sinister music) Your colleagues at the scene couldn't find any trace of it.

and that's un...out of the ordinary, is it, for him to have that amount of cash?

Aadesh was obsessive about air miles.

He paid for everything using a credit card with a reward scheme.

(traffic humming) (door beeps, opens) (dramatic music) (door clangs shut) (lift pings, doors trundle open) (lights clinking) (beep, door clicks) (door squeaks open) (phone rings) -BEA: Hi, got a minute?

-Yeah.

Hey.

Do you remember that other suicide, another shrink, a couple of years back?

That new hotel by the station?

-No.

-Come on, you do.

That brain of yours is like an encyclopedia of crime within ten miles of the city center.

It wasn't a shrink.

He'd stopped practicing, and it's hardly a new hotel, you've been married and divorced in the time that that's been open.

Name?

What was his name, Jake?

Jamieson.

Neal Jamieson, with an A. Jesus, do you ever stop?

It's bulking season, you should try it.

I'll stick with mine, ham and cheese.

-Hmm.

-There we go.

(mouse clicks) Jamieson took six grand in cash out of his account less than three hours before his estimated time of death, and it was never found.

-Well, he slit his wrists in a bath, boss, behind a locked door.

It says he killed himself less than 24 hours after his wife gave birth to their first child.

-So?

-So, it's...totally unexpected.

Just like with Dr Chopra.

It's always unexpected to someone.

You know we've got enough real crime to be cracking on with?

(keyboard clacks) Too late.

I've just requested the Jamieson file from Paper Mountain.

(computer pings) (upbeat music) (mouse clicking) (trolley trundling, clattering) (clears throat) Just, er, leave the file, thanks.

Um, did you know that you're wearing odd socks?

Oh.

(chuckles) My bra and pants don't match either.

Hey.

Brought me the wrong file.

(suspenseful music) Hi, um, the young woman who was helping me... That would be Miss Evans.

Ah, um, she brought a file I didn't request.

Oh, it's not the first time.

Which is a point I shall be emphasizing when I make my complaint to her line manager.

No, I wanna keep it.

Then you'll need to fill out a form.

Where do I sign?

Online submissions only, I'm afraid.

But I've already got it.

I don't make the rules.

(huffs) Can I speak to her...Miss Evans?

I'd advise you to email.

Her name's Patience.

And it'll take every ounce of yours to deal with her.

I'm sorry I can't do any more for you, I'm afraid.

Ca... (upbeat music) (door opens) Patience?

You sh...you shouldn't be here, it's authorized personnel only.

-Don't worry.

-No.

I know who you are.

You're Detective Inspector Beatrice Metcalf.

Beatrice is an awful mouthful.

My friends just call me Bea.

Right, well, I'm not your friend, and you still shouldn't be back here.

I just have a quick question, about the Brendan Clark file, the one you brought me by mistake.

I don't make mistakes.

There were matching patterns in the data.

You mean the cash that Jamieson and Clark both took out before they died?

That, and other things, yeah.

Like what?

That Clark was also a psychiatrist?

Mm.

He was a child psychiatrist.

Probably just coincidence.

And Jamieson had stopped practicing.

Hmm, nope.

They both died on a Friday.

On the fourth day of the month.

(trolley trundles) So did Aadesh Chopra.

Clark had just signed a book deal.

Seemed like he had every reason to live, same as Chopra and Jamieson.

You saying these men didn't kill themselves?

I'm saying something feels off, Sir.

The missing cash, the exact same day and dates, the...similar professions.

Okay, spare me the intuition for once.

Just give me some facts, something I can give the Chief Constable.

The CCTV from the car park shows Aadesh Chopra died by his own hand, it's...plain as day, Sir.

Hm, well, close the file.

Inspector?

The bank manager's testimony, Sir, it's bothering me.

She thought Chopra seemed under the influence of something, glassy-eyed, bit out of it.

Mm, I might need a stiff drink if I was preparing to set myself on fire.

(knock on door) Sorry to interrupt, but your son's school's on the phone, DI Metcalf.

Oh.

Has he been in a fight again?

You've just forgotten to pick him up.

(sighs) Oh, bugger.

-Go on.

(traffic humming) (car door opens) (children chattering) Miss Page!

I'm so sorry.

You're more than an hour late, Miss Metcalf, we rang Alfie's father, he's just picked him up.

Ah.

It won't happen again, I...I promise.

Miss Metcalf.

Miss Metcalf!

We need to talk about his behavior.

I know, yeah.

I know.

He's acting up again, being very disruptive.

I'll make an appointment.

You missed our last one.

I'll call tomorrow, reschedule it.

(footsteps running) Two nights a week, you can't even manage that.

I'm so, so sorry.

I...I got tied up in something.

You think you're the only one whose work's important?

-I...I said I'm sorry.

-So, what now?

Supposed to just hand him back over and suck it up?

Look, Dad, Thursday's a Mum day, and I get burger and a milkshake and YouTube when I finish my homework.

On a school night?

Bye, Dad.

See you, kid.

(sighs) (car door opens) And you wonder why I got custody.

(car door closes) (car engine starts) Alright, bub?

Right.

Come on.

(gentle music) (whispers) Okay.

(clears throat) Hello?

Is this, er, DI Beatrice Metcalf?

This is DI Metcalf speaking.

Er, this is, er, Patience Evans, we met earlier today, I... ...earlier today.

I, um...

I have more information for you.

No, I have some more... useful information for you.

Okay.

(birds singing) Mum?

You know Dreadnoughtus?

-Mm-hmm.

It was taller than a double decker bus and twice the length of one.

Ah... you don't say.

(bash, phone clatters) Hey!

Not cool.

(sighs) Oh.

(plastic bag rustles) Here.

(dog barking) Okay.

(sighs) I can be useful.

I can be useful.

I can be useful.

(Bea's phone rings) (sighs) Yes?

(soft music) (whispers) I don't have a yes.

Who is this?

-Er... -Hello?

Hello?

(phone clatters on desk) -Mum... -What?

You forgot to say no gherkins.

-Oh, sorry, bub.

-Hate flipping gherkins.

Alfie, no.

Stop that.

(up tempo classical music) (people chattering) Chips.

(church bell tolls) (door closes) (keys clink) You absolutely sure you need both of them?

Yes.

It's...it's wise to be prepared in case one breaks.

Spoke to Maynard today.

(stammers) Oh, Mr. Alistair John Maynard?

Your boss, yeah.

Yeah, bumped into him in the supermarket, quite by chance.

Between the baked beans and the biscuits.

Yeah, he was very complimentary about you, Patience.

I said you were working hard, keeping your head down.

-Yep.

-Although he did say you'd been having difficulties with a colleague.

er, someone who's complained, apparently.

About you interfering in a police investigation?

It's...it's our...it's our job to help the police.

Yep, yep.

Quite right.

But, um, I'm not sure actively directing the evidence trail is what your father had in mind when he told you that.

I just don't want you getting involved in something that might leave you burnt out.

Unable to cope.

Goodnight, Mr. Gilmore.

(soft music) Night.

(soft music) (traffic humming) You're 52 minutes late.

You're supposed to be here at 9 according to the rota.

Er, (scoffs) no one pays much attention to that.

What's the point in having it, then?

Is there a reason you've opted to come and pester me and not some other poor detective?

I filed all your cases, DI Metcalf, um, and your deductive leaps of logic can be haphazard, and your notes are cursory, but your clear-up rate is 71.3 percent, which is the best in the county.

It'll be even higher when I close the file on Aadesh Chopra.

Was he intoxicated?

(dramatic music) You what?

Aadesh Chopra, was he intoxicated at the time of his death?

Under an influence of a narcotic?

And why would you ask me that?

Here.

Err...hang on.

Sorry.

-OFFICER 1: Morning.

-OFFICER 2: Morning.

OFFICER 3: Morning.

(lift door trundling) (gasps) (lift door closes) Patience...where'd you get this?

Um, it was...it was in the Brendan Clark file.

Not when I looked, it wasn't.

Well, the file contains 259 pages of A4 text, and you spent 73 minutes studying them according to our logging system, which equates to 17 seconds per page.

(sighs) So, this bicycle courier, he delivered the proofs of Brendan Clark's book to him in person an hour before he died?

Yeah, and it was reported that he seemed confused and that his pupils were dilated.

Then he may have been drugged, perhaps Chopra as well, so what?

Well, I...I've found links to other cases.

-Possible links.

-Probable links.

Perhaps you could summarize.

(files flop) Um...a...according to the Police National Database there are several crimes relating to individuals who were under the influence of scopolamine.

-Sc...scopolo what?

-Scopolamine.

It's a tropane alkaloid, it's usually administered as a powder, but in the right dosage, it can induce a suggestive state in the victim and persuade them to act against their own will, and even harm themselves.

It can also induce memory loss and even psychosis.

There was no mention of anything like that in Jamieson's post-mortem report, or Clark's, from what I can remember.

Yeah, in both cases the toxicology tests weren't taken until four days after the victims' death.

That's not ideal.

Although, not unheard of.

Well, scopolamine is typically only dedicated in bodily fluids for up to 72 hours, often far less.

Come on, I need you to tell all this to the pathologist.

Well, er....

I've...I've not planned for tha, I...I can't be late for work.

This takes precedence over photocopying at Paper Mountain.

(siren blares distantly) Well, it's not called that, it's called the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, or HOLMES for short.

-(laughs) Whatever you say, Sherlock.

No touching, please.

Oh, okay, come on.

(footsteps receding) (people chattering) DOCTOR: I beg your pardon?

It's a powerful intoxicant.

It can render people suggestible.

I know what scopolamine is, Inspector, and I know what it does, I just don't know who or what has led you to believe it might be in Dr. Chopra's system.

Erm, Miss Evans is a valued member of the HOLMES team, Dr. Parsons.

Oh.

Not a forensic specialist, then.

This is the preliminary tox report.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Er, well, scopolamine has a half-life of just over nine hours, and... it's practically undetectable in the blood or urine after a short time.

I mean, if it's inhaled through the mouth or nose, however, which is often the case, it can be detectable in the respiratory tracts.

Um, are these rib shears, Dr. Parsons?

(shears snip the air) (light music) Thankfully, Chopra's body wasn't too badly burnt to take a sample.

We found 17 micrograms in his airways.

Except there might be some innocent explanation.

Scopolamine is present in seasickness tablets, for example.

And this is that zombie drug, right?

I thought that were an urban myth.

There are more than 50,000 cases of scopolamine poisoning found in the public health system in Colombia every year, isn't that right, Patience?

(phone rings) Apologies.

Alright, so... so this is something that happens to rich kids on their gap year?

I've only ever heard of victims in the UK being dosed with Rohypnol or GHB.

BEA: (distorted) What about the other cases Patience has researched?

(pages shuffle) There was some old biddy in Torquay who got drugged and forced to take money out of the cashpoint by her...carer?

Can you summarize, Patience?

(distorted pen clicking) Patience?

(beep, whirring) Patience?

(pen clicks) FATHER: Patience?

The doctor, he's talking to you.

How long has this been going on, this refusal to speak?

I think it's a reaction to being here.

She's a bit more communicative at home.

Oh, what do you talk about, at home?

Um... my cases, mainly.

She seems to have developed a morbid fascination with police work.

Have you given any more thought to what I said?

There's no way I'd agree to that.

Retarded speech function.

Difficulties with social interaction.

A lack of emotional reciprocity.

Sporadic catatonia.

I believe your daughter may be showing early symptoms of... pediatric schizophrenia, Mr. Evans.

(dramatic music) She may need to be hospitalized, whether you like it or not.

Look, don't be too hard on yourself.

It may even be a kindness to put her into psychiatric care.

It's unlikely she'll ever be able to live independently.

Or be what we could call a... ‘useful' member of society.

FATHER: Patience?

BEA: Patience?

(panicked breathing) (sighs) Um... uh...uh... Are you alright?

I... (mumbles incoherently) (footsteps running) Should someone go after her?

I...just...just let her be.

(soft piano music) (door opens) (door closes) Er, how are you feeling?

Are you just being polite or do you really want to know?

Oh, I wanna know.

I was worried about you.

You...you seemed in a bit of a state.

I was overwhelmed, I... become overwhelmed in unfamiliar circumstances and settings.

Maybe a beer might help.

No, I don't drink alcohol.

I read that it can lead to psychomotor issues and exacerbate negative neuro-cognitive traits.

I thought...we could just, you know, get to know each other.

I mean, I already know who you are, you're Detective Inspector Beatrice Metcalf.

Never mind.

Can I give you a lift?

No, I...I...I can't be late, I hate being late.

I can use the siren if we hit traffic.

(car rumbling) (car door opens) Bye.

(car door closes) (dramatic music) (people chattering) (suspenseful music fades in) (quiet background chatter) Hello.

Hi, hi, er, welcome, er, feel free to take a seat, we're just about to start.

Help yourself to water and there's snacks on the table as well.

Okay.

Righty-ho.

(grunts) Hiya.

Welcome, everyone, to our autistic adults support group, or AA for short.

Not to be confused, obviously, with Alcoholics Anonymous who have the space on Wednesdays.

(chuckles) Sorry, er... it's always a pleasure to see a new face among us.

Perhaps I can...

I can ask you for an introduction?

Just how you identify yourself.

Are you diagnosed autistic or self-diagnosed, maybe, or...?

None of the above, I'm... here for someone else.

No, no, of course, great.

Well, family members and friends are always welcome here.

Right.

Maya, I think we were talking about... your situation at work the other day.

Do you wanna... do you wanna continue with that?

At work, I'm masking continually.

I have to take myself off to hide in the toilet to avoid burning out or having a meltdown.

It's like... -One of the women I work with...

Sorry, sorry.

One of the women I work with, she showed me some photos, she asked me if I liked her dog.

And the only thing I could think of to say was, “It's better looking than your baby.” (laughter) At least your colleagues interact with you.

Most of the time, in my workplace, people ignore me, or they speak to me like I'm stupid.

Hey, you have a... an Open University degree in accounting and finance, Theo.

Yeah, but I have a job in the post room.

So, maybe I am stupid.

I often wonder if I should reveal my diagnosis, or risk being overwhelmed in situations where others may not understand what I'm experiencing.

But why is the onus always on us to declare our condition?

(sighs) (soft music) To make ourselves stand out as if there's something shameful about being neurologically a-typical.

MODERATOR: Josie?

Do you wanna say something?

Um, my son's on his fifth school in six years.

Teachers can't handle him.

Oh, it's hard to imagine him ever having a job.

Or colleagues.

Let alone worrying about people being kind to him.

MODERATOR: Yeah.

(whirring, clicking) Urgh.

What?

Nothing.

Come on.

It's okay.

There we go.

I was just wondering if you'd finished your assignment?

Oh.

This doesn't look much like homework.

It's a nine-dot puzzle.

What's that?

It's where you have to join all the dots together in just four lines without your hand leaving the page.

Mm.

Oh.

Even babies can do it.

I've only had one go.

(traffic rumbling) By the way, did Baxter get hold of you?

He was looking for you last night after you left.

He left me a voicemail.

What did he want?

An update on the Chopra case and to ask why I appear to have co-opted somebody from the criminal records department onto the investigation without his permission.

He didn't sound impressed.

Well, maybe he has a point.

Don't you start.

Well, is it a good idea getting what's-her-face involved?

-What's-her-face?

-You know, Paper Mountain girl.

-She has a name, Jake.

-Sorry.

Miss Evans.

Do you have a problem with her?

No.

No, course not, it's just... Well, she's a civilian.

And...?

Not a trained detective, or a forensic pathologist, for that matter.

Patience is the only one who's spotted a pattern between those deaths.

A possible pattern.

Probable.

Well, say thank you very much and move on.

Look, we've managed fine without her.

Thank you.

You don't recall anything about his behavior that day?

Anything out the ordinary?

Well, I'd say killing yourself is somewhat out of the ordinary.

Yeah, we mean before that, was he acting...strangely?

Like he was intoxicated.

(sighs) It was a while back, and to be honest, I don't really like to think about it.

You said Mr. Jamieson stayed at the hotel on more than half a dozen times in the year before he died.

-Mm.

Yet he only lived a few miles outside the city.

Doesn't that seem strange?

Maybe he worked late a lot.

Missed his last train home.

I really don't know.

Perhaps we might take a look at the room where he died.

Okay.

Yeah.

So, it is upstairs, room 1218.

Don't worry, won't get too comfy.

(door opens) It must've been cleaned hundreds of times since it happened.

(suspenseful music) Just wanna get a feel for the place.

Oh.

(laughs) It looks a bit like that painting.

The Jackson Pollock?

-What's that?

-A cigar.

Half smoked, by the looks of it.

Wouldn't it have set off the alarm?

(clattering) Hi.

Erm, DI Metcalf, City of York Police.

(footsteps running) (high tempo music) Hey.

Hey.

Hey.

-What's going on?

-Police.

We're looking in to a suicide at the hotel a few years back.

Oh, that's why she's so distressed.

The poor love.

She was there when they found him.

We just wanna ask a few questions.

You'd be better off speaking to me.

Her English isn't the best.

Sure.

Seems a bit jumpy.

I think her student visa's expired.

But we're CID, not Immigration.

Well, she had to give fingerprints, at the time, for forensics.

Freaked her out.

Were you here when they found him?

I wasn't working.

But I recognized him.

From his photo in the paper.

You must see hundreds of guests here every year, what...what made him stand out?

We don't get that many regulars.

And he tipped well.

He kept missing his last train, that's what your manager reckons.

At three o'clock in the afternoon?

(suspenseful music) I think we know what kind of regular he was then.

Or maybe he was meeting his wife.

For sex?

In the afternoon?

Well, some people like to spice things up.

What about the day he died?

She was still in hospital after giving birth.

Yeah, but no one saw him with anyone.

We should interview her.

I've gotta get back to the station.

What's the hurry?

I've got a stack of burglary reports to finish.

(sighs) I'll give you a lift, just do me a favor, see what you can dig up on that brand of cigars.

Alright, but I'm not promising anything.

(car door opens) Okay, I'll do it.

We'd been trying for eight years.

I think we'd just about convinced ourselves it wasn't going to happen.

So, how was your husband, Mrs. Jamieson, after Martha's birth?

Ecstatic.

At least he seemed so.

Neal was very tired, we both were.

He said he was going back to the house to sleep, and he'd be back to see us both in the evening.

And that's the last time I saw him.

Alive, that is.

And, had...had you ever been to the hotel?

Once, for drinks with friends.

But you never stayed there with him?

-Are you sure?

-Definitely not.

Why do you ask?

Just something somebody said.

I...I thought the investigation into Neal's death was closed, Inspector.

It is.

I mean, it was.

So, what's this all about?

Neal Jamieson was treated for sex addiction.

According to his wife, he was a regular visitor to sex workers before she met him.

It's why he stopped practicing.

Er, boss, um... She even told me he gave her an STD in the first year of marriage.

Insists it's why she couldn't conceive.

Er, alright.

At least, that's what she thinks.

Er, I need to tell you something.

Of course, she's not a suspect, she was in hospital at the time of death, but what with the missing cash, -Boss... and his history of addiction it suggests he may have paid someone for sex shortly before he died, which puts quite a different spin on things.

-Bea.

-What?

Look...

I really need to tell you something.

(lift trundles open) (dramatic music) Where is she?

Interview room.

Look... boss, it was me.

And before you go tearing into Baxter, it was Will that found her on the CCTV, but it was me who reported it.

I thought you were on my side.

This girl, boss... this young woman, boss, sh... You're not seeing straight.

(rapidly receding footsteps) (tense music) (door squeaks open) Hang on.

She was on camera, on the roof of the car park, less than 36 hours after Chopra killed himself.

(handbag thumps on floor) (soft music) Well, visiting a crime scene isn't a crime.

Yes, but it's a known pattern of behavior for a certain type of perpetrator.

Look, it's not the only reason we brought her in.

What else?

Loitering with intent to try and be helpful?

Wasting police time with intelligent theorizing?

We also looked into the case of the other victim, Brendan Clark.

She didn't tell us that he was her psychiatrist as a child.

Or that he misdiagnosed her with schizophrenia.

And he tried to pressurize her father into putting her into an institution.

And on a heavy regimen of medication.

It's all in there.

It's a motive, Bea... for murder, whatever way you look at it.

You never stop to think why she's got such an unhealthy interest in this case?

(dramatic music) (suspenseful music)